A Mage and a Cleric
by FeanorusRex
Summary: A young wizard meets a cleric who serves long forgotten gods. If Raistlin and Crysania knew each other before the War of the Lance. Now revised, with a bonus chapter!
1. Chapter 1

AN: I hope you like this, guys, it is bit of a departure from my horrid fluffs. Thanks so so much to my beta: Opacus, who is absolutely fabulous and if you want to write better USE HER. Please review.

The baron's campaign was over. The spilt blood was soaked up by the ground, the tents were being taken down and the soldiers were ready to march home, but Raistlin could not leave. Not without this mystery solved.

He had seen a woman,with pale skin and dark hair, one of the baron's healers who had been brought along on the campaign. She placed her hands on the chest of a wounded warrior (who would have certainly died of blood loss) and bowed her head in... prayer, perhaps? And the man's color had revived, his irregular breathing became even again. Neither ordinary medicine nor any magic he was aware of could have done that, but Raistlin remembered reading of the abilities of clerics from long ago. Of course, there had been no real clerics for ages, yet what other explanation was there? The question turned endless in his mind.

There had been no time to question this healer in the hot confusion of the healing tent; now Raistlin searched for her among the fringes of the camp containing the non-warriors; cooks, grooms and the like. Was that her? He had hardly glimpsed her face but she seemed faintly recognizable. Of course, a wizard in bright red robes robes with a staff does not fail to attract attention, and he felt the usual second glances as he walked towards the healer.

"May I speak with you?" Raistlin said, forgoing a greeting. It was only an answer to his burning curiosity that he wanted.

The woman looked up from tightening the straps on a trunk. The usual horrified fascination at his appearance does not appear in her face, but perhaps she has seen so many gruesome war injuries in the past few days that hourglass eyes hardly register. She nodded hesitantly and they moved a few yards away from the breaking camp.

As they stopped, Raistlin spoke. "How did you heal that man?" The question is blunt and caught her off guard.

"What man? I don't-" But under her denial there is a flash of panic.

"He was dying," Raistlin interjected, "A person can only lose so much blood and we were only waiting for him to die, but you laid your hands on him and he seemed to heal." Raistlin stared at her, "And I am asking, how did you do that?"

"You would not believe me," she replied flatly, but continued, "I was only a child. In my town there was an old woman, half mad but she would tell the most wonderful stories, and one day she told me about the old gods and the devoted men and women the gods would use to bestow their blessings on the people of Krynn."

"Those gods left us eons ago in the Cataclysm," he interrupted once more. Was she stalling or merely giving background?

The woman regarded him. "Do you really believe that, mage? You wear Lunitari's color, where do you think your magic comes from? Look at the stars," she said with a sweeping motion to the night skies. "The Valiant Warrior and the Dark Queen are still in our heavens. Perhaps, I thought, after hearing the woman's story, they are not gone, only... retreated. The greatest god in the story was Paladine and so I asked him to reveal himself to me. I was seven. Nothing happened, but some things you must do over and over before you get results."

She paused, remembering, and then continued, "Everyday for years I talked to this god and one day I felt a presence, like someone behind me. It was very faint but it was there. And I reasoned that if Paladine," she said the name with reverence, not as a casual exclamation, "had shown himself to me them there must be a reason. I realized that I had been given healing abilities and so I became a healer."

He has had much practice at lying and this is no newly spun story. But as if this revelation was not stunning enough, the woman asked, "What can I give you in exchange for your silence?"

"Silence!" He could not believe it. "Why should you want my silence?" Raistlin demanded. She would be an invaluable asset to any army. With her no one would fear their wounds, she would simply touch them and the sliced flesh, the broken bones, would knit back together. "Why have you done nothing with your power? You could bring back faith in the gods! People want miracles, you could provide them, and yet you work for a minor baron? Why?"

"But I have done something. I have saved lives, restored limbs." She countered. Her manner, so calm until now, seemed to harden. "Perhaps I could impress crowds, but who would follow me? I waited for years to feel anything, tell me, how would I instruct this new sect? Simply tell them to pray until they received a gift? Each healing takes faith; I must want and beg my god for it. And even then I cannot heal everything."

They are clear arguments, and before he had a chance to respond she seemed to tire of explanations because she inquired, "Have I answered to your satisfaction? Will you allow me to return to my duties? For, mage, my gift does not extend to packing my things."

The only cleric on Krynn for ages. How powerful an ally she could be! Raistlin thought before saying, "Yes, of course. I am sorry to have interrupted your duties, but please... all my life I have looked for the gods and any knowledge you have I would like to know. Where can I find you?"

If she had refused to answer him, it would not have mattered. He knew magical means of finding a person and it was not a large castle the baron had, but she did tell him. "My name is Crysania. If you want to see me, I work in the eastern side of the castle." She moved to go and then questioned asked, "And your name?"

"Raistlin Majere," he told her and she recognized the god's name.

It was twilight as he walked back across the camp, lost in thought. To find someone, a cleric, who knew of the gods. Not only knew but held their healing power inside her! What knowledge he could gain, and what power.

Raistlin offered a silent word of praise to any deities, red robes goddesses of magic, or otherwise that might be listening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

I've been revising this! I shall be updating weekly. Please review.

Raistlin did not see Crysania again for a week. The campaign had been fought not far from the baron's castle, so the company did not have far to travel, but Horkin decided to review Raistlin's performance in the battles. This was a long tedious process that tested the wizard's patience. Besides this, there were all the spells he had used and had to relearn. But he thought of Crysania often, turning her story over in his mind. It did line up with what he has read about clerics. Indeed, they did not have unlimited power and they had to ask their god for power, each time they wanted to perform a particular healing. Raistlin did not tell his brother about his discovery. Caramon barely knew the names of the gods, and he would not understand the significance of it.

When he finally sought Crysania, he initially could not find her; her directions had been rather vague. Rasitlin asked several passing inhabitants of the castle, none of which knew her by name, but he finally described her to a man at arms and was directed to a plain door in the middle of an equally nondescript corridor. He pushed it open. It revealed a modest room, containing a table and shelves, holding books, dried bunches of herbs, jars, and vials: healer's tools. There was another door on the far side of the room, presumably leading to sleeping quarters.

The room was occupied. Crysania, standing behind the table grinding, some herb with a mortar and pestle, glanced up when he entered, and recognizing him, said succinctly, "Raistlin, hello," before returning to her task.

This off putting reception added to Raistlin's the sudden realization that he had no clear idea of where to begin. "In the past week. The baron and his retainers have not descended upon me, demanding immortality and riches," she said wryly. "Thank you, for not telling anyone."

"I gave you my word, did I not?" Another pause; Raistlin gathered his thoughts and then started, " I am a mage, a disciple of the gods as well. Different ones, the gods of magic, Lunitari is my patroness." He gestured to his red robes. "But knowledge of them is scarce. I thought we could discuss what we know of them. If you wish, I would not wish to disrupt-."

"No," she put down her work and, moving around the table, pulled out two chairs. "I would be happy to share my knowledge with you, although I fear it is limited." Crysania gestured to the chair, nearest to Raistlin. "Please, sit."

He did and began asking the woman questions about her abilities and what she know of the gods, not just about Paladine, all the higher powers. But he did not learn as much as he would have liked. When Crysania said her knowledge was lacking, she was not being modest. Though she was an instrument of godly power, she knew less than he about their lore.

Disappointing, but not completely; she was more well versed in general history of Ansalon, because: "Details of the gods are scarce, partly because chroniclers assumed we would always have them near us, as opposed to historical records, which people took time to write down. I thought I could learn about the natures of the gods by examining their indirect workings in history." She is not a bad conversation partner and Raistlin stays longer than he'd meant to. Caramon will be looking for him. Eventually, he rose. "Thank you."

Technically, they never have to see each other again; he'd gotten what he requested. Yet she could be an immensely powerful ally, and it would be nice to have some one with which to discuss intellectual matters. Definitely neither Horkin nor Caramon fit this category.

Crysania also stood. "You are welcome. And," she added, hesitating, seems to try to find the correct words to persuade, "You are free to return if you would like. I treat patients from the adjacent town, when I am not traveling on one of the baron's expedition, but I am usually here."

"I will," He accepted.

Raistlin did. Over the next months they meet, as his studies allow, to discuss, to argue, on various subjects, from history to theological points.

His coughing interrupted one of their conversations and he cut off Crysania's worried questions, and hoped it would pass. But his lungs seemed determined to tear themselves from his chest. Raistlin tried to excuse himself, annoyed that she had seen the full extent of his ill health. Crysania protested, offering to help; asking the precise nature of his ailment.

"It's is nothing that can be cured," he gasped out between coughs.

"Perhaps nothing that can be cured with worldly medicine," she responded, approaching him, "but perhaps with my abilities."

He wondered: could a god's power overcome what the Conclave had cursed him with? Raistlin did not doubt it, but wondered if said god would be willing. Palatine certainly would not approve all of Raistlin's actions.

"Very well." He let Crysania draw near and place her hands on his shoulders. She bent her head, her black hair obscuring her face. He wondered what she said to Paladine, as she communed with this other worldly power. And then, relief: his chocked breathing cleared. Not full healing, but at least temporarily alleviation; a scrap thrown from the hand of her god.

Crysania stepped away and regarded him expectantly. He met her gaze, "My thanks." True gratitude is a foreign emotion to him.

"Thank Paladine, not me," she said, shrugging. "But why, if not illness, do you cough like that?"

Interesting. People usually ceased to care after learning he was not contagious.

"An effect of the magical test, I undertook to join the ranks of wizards," he explained.

"I see. And your hair and eyes as well?" she gestured at the attributes as she named each. When Raistlin nodded, she continued, "Do you see things differently through them?"

"Differently? Quite differently. I see everything dying, ravaged by time." Raistlin's voice took on a note of bitterness. It already was becoming harder to recall what normal sight was; his vision clouding all of his memories. "It was the price I paid for magic."

"Such a price," she murmured, no doubt trying to picture how he saw things.

"Not so great." He thought of everything he had learned from Horkin and his greatly increasing knowledge. "For some mages, it cost their lives."

"When you look at me, for example, how do I appear?"

Raistlin stared at Crysania, letting his eyes paint him the usual morbid picture. "I see a beautiful woman and then, rapid aging. Your body withers, and flesh falls off your bones."

"Oh," she said, awkwardly, plainly disturbed. He noted the sudden blush staining her normally pale cheeks and wondered at its cause, then realizing that he has inadvertently called her beautiful.

She was, the mage reflected later. Even he could see that, indeed, without this unnatural sight, she would be quite distracting. He would be lying if he said that he did not feel some attraction to her. Crysania was like no other woman he had ever met. She was intelligent, she had the same level of devotion to her faith that he had to magic, and yes, she was beautiful. But it was a ridiculous fancy, and he generally managed to ignore his feelings.


	3. Chapter 3

Crysania did not mind that she was in love with Raistlin. Not really. Rather she minded that she had absolutely no idea how to get the mage to reciprocate her feelings.

She tried, in the beginning, to flirt with him, but she had no idea what to say; she had absolutely no experience with this kind of thing; she tried unbuttoning the top of her dress a bit, only a few buttons, but she felt exposed and idiotic, and Raistlin did not seem to notice anyway, so she did all her buttons up and decided if he was going to fall for her it would be because of her extensive knowledge of historical.

It was rather pathetic, that at first Crysania did not realize that she was actually in love. Starved as she was for any lasting human contact, she thought that this was how any friendly human relationship left you feeling, incredibly happy and light headed, thinking only of the other, wanting to see them again. But then she realized that people do not want to throw themselves physically at friendly acquaintances, and she did very much have a desire for physical contact in the case of Raistlin.

It did not help that she had never been in love before. Crysania had no idea how to deal with all of these feelings. She had never before considered romance in her life. She could not truly share her life with anyone who did not know her secret, and she could not have risked telling it.

She did not know if Paladine required her to live celibately; from what information of she knew of clerics in days of old, they had spouses, lovers, and children. She did not know if the applied to her, and was too embarrassed to ask Paladine directly, although surely he knows about her feelings; Raistlin was in her thoughts so often…

I will have him, she thought, as she prayed. She was supposed to be talking to Paladine, but this vow was for herself alone, not meant for her god's ears. _I will win him body and soul._

* * *

Months after Raistlin had met the cleric, he visited Crysania one last time. "My brother and I are tired of killing people." He explained their reason to leave the baron's service, as they sat at her table as they had so many other times. "With my magic and his fighting abilities, we should easily be able to find other employment."

"You certainly will have not trouble, not with all these rumors of growing evil throughout Krynn." Crysania replied. She paused, hesitating, then, "Will you write to me?"

"Why?" he asked sharply, questioning.

"I thought that we might continue conversing on paper but if you would rather not- " She began, clearly offended.

And Raistlin realized how lonely this woman must be. She had given up everything, friends, love, children, and received arcane power in return. While this was certainly a boon, it was unnatural to be so isolated from other people. Even he himself had not sacrificed this much. Besides brief contact with the patients she saw, Raistlin must be the only person she had any relationship with. Of course she would not want to lose that.

"No, forgive me," he stopped her. "I will write as soon as my brother and I are settled somewhere else. I should be going now." He stood up. Never having anyone to say farewell to, he was not good with goodbyes, but he felt he should say something more. However, his breath caught in his lungs, and he began to cough, staining his red sleeves with blood.

"May I?" Crysania got up, and extended her hands slightly.

"If you wish," he replied. It is not a serious attack, and would have passed soon. But to watch her summon power from a forgotten god was beyond intriguing. "Please do."

Crysania placed her hands on his shoulders and bowed her head. Raistlin felt his spasming chest relax. She placed her hands at her sides and glanced up at him. "Thank you, your abilities are truly marvelous."

Crysania nodded her acknowledgement, but corrected him, "Not my abilities, Paladine's," and removed her hands from his shoulders. Raistlin's mind suddenly realized how near to him she is standing; so much closer than necessary.

She looked rather nervous, which he did not understand until she leaned even closer and kissed him. For a moment his cursed sight was replaced by darkness. He could see no death and only felt her lips raised to his.

Her kiss felt different than Shivas'. Shivas kissing him had been like a sword blade, fire ensnaring him. But Crysania's is softer, and there was warmth here too, but not devouring.

He is caught off guard, by Crysania's unexpected action- or more accurately, the feelings it aroused within him- and he stepped back. He could think of nothing to say, and instead pulled his hood over his head, obscuring his face.

Crysania stepped back also, expanding the space between them. "May Paladine guide you." She smiled, looking slightly embarrassed but rather pleased with herself. Raistlin wished her the same, and left quickly.

He almost wished that he could stay here, in the baron's service. It wass a comfortable life, and Crysania was- not unpleasant to be around. But he knew no matter what each of them may feel, her purpose in life is her god, and his is magic. Magic, and he must follow its siren call wherever it leads him. It leads him away from her, and he will willingly sacrifice Crysania's companionship, never looking back, to follow magic.

But serving magic did not mean that he could not write to her.

Two weeks later he found himself employed at another castle. The work was not hard and gave Raistlin ample time for his magical studies and to write to the cleric. _Crysania,_ he wrote at the top of a sheet of parchment, and watched the ink sink into the paper as it dried. What was he supposed to write? What should she possibly want to know? The mundane events of his life?

Yet, he had given her his word, and must write something. Finally, he managed to fill the parchment. Foregoing the closing, he simply signed it, _Raistlin,_ half hoping that she would not reply.

But reply she did, and eventually they became accustomed to the awkward medium of paper. Their letters became very much like their previous conversations, only with longer periods of waiting for replies. Crysania never mentioned what had happened between them when they said goodbye, and Raistlin did not bring it up. Her actions confused him. He had always prided himself as being able to read people, and yet, had he completely missed this woman's affection? Perhaps he had not seen it because he had not expected to. The thought that she was attracted to him is a bizarre one, quite outside the realm of logic.

Caramon did wonder who Raistlin spent so much time writing to, but Raistlin fiercely told him that it was absolutely none of his business. Judging by the amount of time and effort Raistlin spent composing them, Caramon thought he must be writing to a lover or some great mage he admired. Since the first was out of the question, Caramon concluded that it was the latter, and said no more about it.

 **Author's Notes:**

Featuring a completely different Crysania than in canon because come on, canon Crysania is terrible.

I have absolutely no idea how to write men, like do they have any emotions or? Thoughts or? Who knows? No one knows. But I hope you guys enjoyed the updated content.

Also, Shivas is this crazy evil magic lady from Brothers Majere, (wild book), who kisses our son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: Well comrades, last chapter. Thanks to everyone for reading this. I hope you enjoyed my revisions. I think that the story is a lot better now.**

The mage and the cleric continued to correspond as Raistlin and his brother journeyed around Krynn, working for various employers. Their letters were brought to an abrupt halt with the arrival of dragons on Krynn and the subsequent chaos produced by the War of the Lance. Crysania did cross his mind during the Companions' adventures: he imagined her excitement when the Disks of Mishakal were discovered, and he wondered if Fizban, if the old man was Paladine, as it was whispered he was, had heard her prayers all these years.

As for after the war, well… Despite the fact that the Tower of High Sorcery did in fact have a post office box in Palanthas, renewing communication with an old acquaintance especially with one he'd had such a friendly relationship with was not in the spirit of cutting all ties to his past life. Withdrawing from the world, and strengthening his power, Raistlin forgot about Crysania.

Until the dreams began.

As Raistlin formulated his plan to challenge the gods, his subconscious or perhaps a higher power began to show him visions nightly: walking through the deserted streets of ancient Istar, familiar, withered hands grasping him, dragging him downwards, a menacing flat plane devoid of light. This did not bother him over much, Raistlin had had disturbing dreams all his life. When Crysania appeared, she looked much as he remembered, but her clothes were ravaged by inextinguishable fire. None of this would have bothered Raistlin except that next the dream Crysania twined her arms around Raistlin's neck and kissed him fiercely, pressing herself against him. The flames would spread to his clothes and flesh and he would feel their searing pain, unable to break away, until he woke.

Try as he might, Raistlin could divine no meaning from this part of his nightly visions. Crysania, the kiss, the excruciating heat of the fire, none of it made sense. This, combined with the fact that he nightly dreamed about being embraced and kissed by a women who had kissed him at their parting, annoyed and frustrated him.

Resolution came with the arrival of a letter in an unfamiliar hand marked with a return address of the Temple of Paladine, Palanthas. This was surprising, as Raistlin had not yet written to request the meeting with Elistan that would be the first turn of the cog in the grand scheme to challenge the gods.

The letter had been left on his desk by Dalamar who checked the Tower's mail box infrequently. Raistlin slit the opening and began to read.

 _To the Archmage, Raistlin Majere:_

 _Reverend Daughter of Paladine, Crysania of Tarinius-_

 _"Crysania!"_ he gasped, almost dropping the letter. So she had become a cleric, and a renowned one, if she had scribes to write letters for her. Raistlin read on, _"wishes to meet with you to discuss the concerning matter of your salvation, as well as several disturbing rumors of your ambitions. Should you accept this offer, she will await you a month from now, in the Great Library of Palanthas._

 _Blessings In Paladine's Name._

 _Carefully_ , Raistlin placed the letter back on her desk, barely breathing, as if force or breathe could rob him of this opportunity. He had planned to initiate the meeting, but it was how much better was it if she came to him? He had planned to use Elistan, but what was an old man compared to this younger women he'd spent months with?

Years ago, Raistlin had guessed the value of having her as an ally, and now it seemed that he had guessed correctly. Now her appearance in the dreams made sense. Perhaps the fire, the pain, represented the trials they would face. However, the one facet of the visions that continued to bother Raistlin as he prepared to write his reply, was the kiss. The only plausible meaning as that she still harbored some romantic affection for him, even after years of no contact. So much the better, those who loved you more were always the easier to manipulate, but unlike the dreams, this love would only burn her. His path was much greater than petty human emotion.

Dipping his quill in ink, a gesture that reminded him vividly of their past letters- all that had changed was their titles- he wrote:

 _To Revered Daughter of Paladine, Crysania:_

 _Very well. I agree._

 _Raistlin Majere, Archmage._

 **Author's Notes: The idea of Krynn having a postal system is canon, as mentioned in "The Heart of a Dragnon," short story from one of the collections.**


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